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If we're to be judged by our parents and grandparents, then we all may as well impale ourselves upon jagged bits of rock.

Kristin Cashore

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Kristin Cashore
Age: 48
Born: 1976
Born: June 10
Novelist
Writer
Boston
Massachusetts
Parent
Jagged
Upon
Grandparents
May
Grandparent
Wells
Judged
Well
Rock
Rocks
Parents
Bits
Impale

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You're afraid of your own anger.
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Saf keeps a vast range of bullies on hand at all times.
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She didn't want to go far, just out of the trees so she could see the stars. They always eased her loneliness. She thought of them as beautiful creatures, burning and cold each solitary, and bleak, and silent like her.
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While I was looking the other way your fire went out. Left me with cinders to kick into dust, what a waste of the wonder you were
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Fire sat unbreathing. A life that was an apology for the life of his father: It was a notion she could understand, beyond words and thought. She understood it the way she understood music.
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Only a person with the true heart of a dictionary-writer would be lying in bed, three days after being stabbed in the gut, worrying about his P's.
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If he touches you, I'll come in and choke him to death.
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That was what they did with themselves, those two Gracelings, along with a small band of friends: They stirred up trouble on a serious scale—bribery, coercion, sabotage, organized rebellion—all directed at stopping the worst behavior of the world’s most seriously corrupt kings.
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The fellow who tends the greenhouse gardens? Trust me, Lady, you'd let him stake your tomatoes.
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Normal. She wasn't normal. A girl Graced with killing, a royal thug? A girl who didn't want the husbands Randa pushed on her, perfectly handsome and thoughtful men, a girl who panicked at the thought of a baby at her breast, or clinging to her ankles.
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Perhaps I can stay by the fire and mend your socks and scream if I hear any strange noises.
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She crossed the room to him, put her arms around him, clung to him, turning her face to the side, learning all at once that it was awkward to show a person all of one's love when one's nose was broken.
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You’re crying.” “I’m not.” “Right,” he said mildly. “I suppose you got rained on.
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Brigan spun around to face the man, swearing with as much as exasperation and fury as Fire had ever heard anyone swear. The man scuttled away in alarm.
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She groped forward, hands and feet, in search of darkness, distance and solitude.
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While I was looking the other way your fire went out Left me with cinders to kick into dust What a waste of the wonder you were In my living fire I will keep your scorn and mine In my living fire I will keep your heartache and mine At the disgrace of a waste of a life
Kristin Cashore
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...that's how memory works ... Things disappear without your permission, then come back again without your permission.
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If I wanted to stun anyone at dinner, I'd hit them in the face.
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Great seas, he said. What do you want? He held the candle up to her face. Po, what do you want? She did a far better job than I would've done.
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They seemed no closer to the tops of the peaks that rose before them. It was only by looking back, to the forest far below, that she knew they'd climbed.
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